


Trust Me, Again

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:25:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4068370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a continuation of Trust Me, which can also be found on this archive. It would be helpful to read that story before this one. That story can stand alone, but for those interested in continuing the journey of Red and Lizzie begun there, here is more: </p><p>The future balanced on the blade of a knife so easily can slip and be cut apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bubble

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any part of The Blacklist.

When Liz woke it was too quiet, and the sun was too high in the sky. He had started letting her sleep in again. The baby was getting older, and the need to wake multiple times a night had diminished. Nearly eight months had passed, and her life had fallen into a peaceful pattern. When they left Australia several weeks after the baby was born, Red had taken them to Fiji, where they lived for almost seven months. He had a beautiful, secluded home there, and not only was the setting idyllic, but so was their time together as a new family. Only very recently had they journeyed back to the U.S. for the first time, back to South Carolina where it had all started. Red had renovated the cabin she had lived in for eight days alone and four days with him nearly three years ago. It was basically a new home, much larger and grander than before. But, to Liz’s happy discovery, the bed she so loved remained in a new master suite that had stunning views of the lake. 

She had been so surprised at what he called a “little present” for her – a vacation house on the lake, something she had so wished the place to be when she was there before, when her future looked bleak and lonely. He had basically bought the whole town, truth be told, so as to provide a safe haven for his young family, a haven closer to home than Australia or Fiji or the other houses they had yet to visit. She didn’t know that yet, about his purchases or his concerns, but she felt trepidation being back on U.S. soil. It still seemed too near turmoil and danger for her to completely relax, though she was trying. Red appeared fine, happy; Caroline was her jubilant, curious, sweet little self. So, Liz was settling in. 

She got out of bed and quickly dressed. She looked out of her big window to the lake and saw them there. She smiled at the sight before her and shook her head at her reality, so tranquil in so many respects, such a dream. She made her way downstairs directly to the coffee pot, where she filled a mug that Red had waiting for her. He was ever so solicitous, anticipating her needs, her wants. He was, in short, a wonderful, thoughtful companion. 

Walking out onto the porch, she took a deep breath of the fragrant air, the warmth of the late April morning wrapping itself around her. She walked the path to the long dock, the one she and Red had sat on so long ago when he had told her ‘no,’ he would not be in her new life. How wrong he had been. He was in every part of this life she had, an integral part of her happiness and her daughter’s, a key piece in the puzzle that made up Masha Rostova, Elizabeth Keen, Alicia Ramsey, and now, sometimes, Olivia St. James and Natalie Campbell. He was fundamental to her well-being, and she to his, she believed. 

It had been quite easy adjusting to living with him. And, even though there was a child to care for, their life together as a couple was new and required attention and conversation and negotiation. But, as in everything, they made a good team. And, their day-to-day life was easy, welcomed. She nursed their baby exclusively for months, but Red rocked her and walked with her and sang to her when she awoke at night. He was uncompromisingly patient with their colicky baby, explaining that Jennifer, too, had been that way in the early months. He required far less sleep than Liz, so they were a good balance for one another. Though Liz refused a nurse for the baby, he insisted on a housekeeper and a part-time cook. And, she admitted that both were instrumental in making their lives easier. 

They spent much time together and with their daughter, but both Red and Liz required time alone. They were independent and contemplative sorts, both, and too much togetherness and no work to distract was a problem they discovered early on. He liked to read, put together all manner of puzzles, and tinker around. He built things, took things apart and put them back together. He fished and sailed and swam. She took time to enjoy the ocean and life around the island. She swam, jogged, shopped and resumed the drawing and painting she loved as a child. It was a good life, a rather isolated life, but a good life. Fiji suited them well. A week ago Red suggested a vacation. She had laughed: "From what?" "A change of scenery, then. I have something I'd like to show you," he said one night as she loomed eagerly above him in bed. 

When she reached her destination at the end of the dock, Red looked up from his book and smiled. “Our lovely lady is napping, Lizzie,” he said, beckoning her over, patting his lap. She looked at the sleeping baby in her swing, her pouty mouth and long, long eyelashes so like her father’s. She was a gorgeous baby by any measure. Caroline had been blessed with the best of her parents – the aforementioned attributes along with the sandy blond hair, golden skin, and distinguished chin of her father and large blue eyes, regal nose, and rosy cheeks and lips of her mother. She was feisty and determined, but also so sweet and cuddly; traits of both parents, they agreed. She was so well loved a child that it was hard to believe her existence wasn’t planned down to the last detail. It was hard to believe she had been a surprise. 

In truth, her existence secretly worried both of her besotted parents. In the dark of night in the most secret, private recesses of their minds, with their bodies pressed together, their breathing quiet and in sync with one another, they worried alone of the possibilities – abandonment, exposure, abduction, extortion, murder. These were not the worries of most parents, but Red and Liz were not most parents. In Fiji, they were Michael and Olivia St. James; in Australia, they were Alicia Ramsey and her friend; in South Carolina, they were Todd and Natalie Campbell. Caroline was always Caroline, but one day, would she ask who her parents really were? Would she ask why they were Red and Lizzie at home and other people everywhere else? Would they have to adjust what they were doing to prevent her confusion or unwitting exposure of them? The time was coming that their questions would require answers, and the bubble that housed them now so delicately, so precariously would burst.

Liz placed her coffee mug on the small table beside Red and sat in his lap. She kissed his soft lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. “So, what’s going on out here this morning,” she asked, rubbing the back of his head with her hands. He purred his satisfaction at her ministrations for a moment before answering, before poking a hole in that bubble and letting the air slowly but surely begin to leak out. 

“Well, we have had breakfast, walked about a bit and found a delightful frog to follow, read from Chaucer, which she found quite amusing, and now naptime. It was quite a morning,” he smiled.

“You could have woken me, Red. Really,” she said, pleased with him, his recounting of the events, his whimsy, his devotion. 

“There was no need. We were fine. I enjoy my time with her, as you well know. And, you have a lot of sleep to catch up on. Months’ worth, so indulge yourself,” he said, kissing her cheek as he slid his hand slowly up her thigh. “Indulge me.”

“Oh. I see the motive now. You are not so altruistic. Ever the self-serving letch,” she laughed quietly, as he kissed his way to his favorite spot, and hers, behind her ear. “I do miss you, Red. All the time.”

She shivered at his tantalizing kisses and opened her mouth to continue to tease him, but her words had stilled him and his seriousness when he moved his face back into view stopped her. She peered at him questioningly. 

“What’s wrong? I know it’s not like it was before; I know it’s harder to find the time to indulge ourselves, and with the nursing … but, we’re okay, aren’t we? We’re still …” The shaking of his head stopped her. It was something else. 

“I got a call from Harold this morning, Lizzie. There’s been some activity, some chatter,” he said.

Her hands at the back of his head stopped moving. “What?”

He swallowed and cleared his throat. She hadn’t seen this sort of hesitation, this reluctance to speak, from him in a long time, but she recognized it and all it meant instantly. “Lizzie, there are those who have seen fit to exhume the body, to desecrate the grave of a poor young woman, to confirm your death. It seems someone had changed allegiances once again; one Jacob Phelps or Tom Keen or whatever he calls himself now has gone to the Russians for his supper. For what I am imagining is a high premium, your ex-husband is spewing facts and fiction all over the Motherland, ultimately claiming he suspects you are alive. For the right price, he claims he can find you and bring you to them - alive. He bases this claim on facts, I admit. Facts I provided him.”

She could only stare at him. 

He continued: “He knew I loved you – long before you did, long before I entered your life, long before you ever cared for me in return. And, he is exploiting that now. One rat can sniff out another; he knew I loved you because, in his own twisted way, he did, too. Unfortunately, in that, we were alike once – to a point. He is willing to trade on that love for money, for revenge; I am not. Knowing what he knows about me and how I have always felt for you, he knows what no one else has even suspected – that I would never kill you. That instead I would protect you at all costs. He plans to cash in on that knowledge, a most selfish, most unloving act that, if successful, could endanger all of us. I hired him. That was my fault, my failing. And, he will be neutralized. As soon as possible. ”

She felt sick. The little bit of coffee she had had souring in her stomach. She recognized she was trembling only when Red moved her arms from around his neck and held her hands, stilling them as best he could.

His eyes sought hers, which were glazed and now staring beyond him. “Lizzie. Lizzie, look at me.” 

She blinked hard and refocused. “Okay,” she whispered. “What is going to happen?”

“He’s not getting anything from the body. No one is. Harold and my people have made sure of that. It is being handled. And, now we know what he’s up to, and he won’t succeed, Lizzie. He suspects you are alive; he has no proof. He is in the wind; the FBI closed in quickly. They arrested two men, hired hands of Tom's, I assume, for alleged grave robbing. They are being interrogated now. We’ll find out where Tom is, and he will be dealt with. They’ve already given his name, or at least one of his aliases; they have no loyalty to him. We’ll get what we need,” he assured. 

“Caroline,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. 

“Will be fine,” he whispered back. He kissed her forehead. “No one will touch her. Trust that, Lizzie.”

“I won’t let them,” she said, stronger. 

“Nor will I,” he nodded. “We will be fine.”

She regarded him silently for a moment and then turned to stare at her daughter. 

“I trust you, Red,” she said, because he needed to hear it. He needed her to be present and strong, to understand the threat but to remember who she was and how to deal with that threat like an agent. She understood that, but what she wouldn’t tell him was just how frightened she was, how resourceful and wily Tom was, how he couldn’t control the future and the actions of others despite his best attempts, how he couldn’t always save her. What she knew and wouldn’t tell him was that no matter what she would fight for him and their daughter; that if it came down to it, she would kill for them without hesitation; that she would sacrifice herself for them. What she wouldn’t tell him was that she was still that agent, but the stakes were so much higher, and she was loyal to no government. As she sat on his lap, her hands held tightly in his and her eyes on her beautiful sleeping baby, she felt something rise up in her, powerful and fierce, dark and instinctual, evil and murderous. Goosebumps spread on her skin, and she shivered. Red held her tighter, because he didn’t understand. There was a reckoning coming, and she was ready for it.


	2. Agent Keen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kind welcome back for this story. I appreciate the kudos, comments and all the readers. Thank you!!

Chapter 2

Liz spent the day anxious, jittery. Caroline sensed it, and was fussy as a result. Red spent much time on the satellite phone with Harold and some of his own people. He stayed outside, far away from the house to protect Liz from the difficult conversations, but the distance only served to exacerbate her fears. By nightfall, he returned, exhaustion etched in every crevice of his face. 

“Harold is on his way here,” he said, to her astonishment. “Not to our home, but to town. I’m going to meet with him. There are things to discuss, ways to contain this. Dembe will be with me. Everyone else will stay in their positions here. You will be fine. We will meet for a few hours, and I’ll be back.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, following him up the stairs to their bedroom. He was already stripping off his shirt in their closet when she caught up with him. “You are not telling me everything. No, no, in fact, you’re not telling me anything. What’s going on, Red? Really? In all this time, you have never proposed Cooper or anyone else come near us. In fact, you forbid it. Why now? How bad is this?”

He kept his back to her as he slipped on a white t-shirt and searched for a dress shirt from the color-coded multitude in front of him. She gripped his upper arm and turned him forcibly toward her. “Answer me, Red. What is going on?”

He sighed. “Where is the baby?”

“She is asleep. In her crib. Where are you going exactly and why?” She was angry with him now, and it was a feeling she only dimly recollected experiencing before today. 

“We are meeting at an inn about 45 minutes from here. The same inn where I planned to stay when we were here originally, as a matter of fact. If you remember, you didn’t allow me to stay there then,” he said, smiling slightly, attempting to lighten the mood. It didn’t work. She wore her Agent Keen stare, and despite the circumstances, it excited him to see her like this. Truth be told, he had missed that murderous glare. It had always melted his insides, made him want to taunt her a little; it made him want to push her up against a wall, aggravate her until she screamed. Oh, he had missed this woman. This strong, angry fighter that challenged him, fought him at every turn. He wanted her, this woman, for just a little while. He stepped toward her with intention. 

“What are you doing,” she asked, stepping back, her frustration growing in equal measure to his desire. 

“I’m going to lay you down on that bed you love so much and have my way with you, Agent Keen,” he said matter-of-factly, moving toward her again, a predator to his prey, his voice lower than she’d heard it in a long time.

“No. You are going to tell me what I want to know,” she answered, her voice deep and threatening. She stepped back again as he approached; she matched him, step for step, until the back of her knees hit the mattress.

“Mmmm,” he chuckled deep in his throat. “I’m not. Eventually, maybe, but not yet. Take off your shirt, Agent Keen.”

She had opened her mouth to berate him, but his demand caused her to falter. He hadn’t been like this with her in a long time – demanding, dominating, intimidating – and she was beginning to shake with adrenaline, anticipation, arousal.

Even as her hands went to her shirt and began unbuttoning the small line of buttons, she said: “You are going to talk; you’re going to tell me everything, or you’re not going anywhere.”

He licked his lips as he watched her nimble fingers move swiftly down the front of her blouse. “Next, take off your pants. Move quickly. I have a meeting,” he said, not looking at her face. If he looked at her eyes, he would gentle, and neither of them needed that right now. 

She did as he said, swiftly, angrily. “This deflection won’t make a difference. I am not forgetting what is at stake here. I don’t care who is going to be at that meeting. If I don’t know what you are up to, nothing happens. I decide. This is about me. Tom is looking for me. And, you and I are partners, equals, in everything. Are you listening to me?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head slowly, watching her slowly push her pants down her smooth, shapely legs. When she was finished, she looked up at him, waiting. 

“Panties.”

She took a deep breath and slipped her fingers into the sides of her underpants; then she stopped, closed her eyes a moment and slowly, slowly released the air from her lungs. “You are watching me, but you are not listening to me,” she said, breathlessly. 

“Yes,” he murmured, his eyes following her hands that now moved down her legs, taking the silk pink panties with them. He began undressing himself slowly, never taking his eyes off of her.

“Bra.”

“Red,” she began to protest. She had been wearing her bra during their lovemaking, because she was nursing. But, she was slowly weaning the baby, and even though she was desperate for his touch, his mouth, she had become shy, uncertain. She was self-conscious, nervous about his reaction to the changes in her body. 

“Take it off, Lizzie,” he whispered, gently.

“I … I’m not …”

“Take it off,” he said, finally closing the distance between them, finally looking at her eyes. His hands reached behind and unhooked the lavender fabric for her. “Take it off for me.”

She closed her hands over the cups of the bra as it began to slip down her arms. She held his gaze and finally, finally moved her hands and let the bra slip to the ground. 

“You are magnificent,” he said without looking down. “Now lay back.”

She bit her bottom lip and eased back onto the bed. 

And, he taunted her, pushed her, aggravated her, pleasured her, until she screamed, again and again and again, with her teeth cutting into the palm of his hand.


	3. Jacob Phelps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was begun shortly after the airing of “The Deer Hunter” but includes canon from “T. Earl King VI.” After that episode, I have to claim AU, because not everything fits with what happened during the rest of Season Two. In “Trust Me” and now this story, Liz’s parents were KGB agents, but Liz’s mother killed her father. Then, her mother was killed by another agent the night of the fire, where Red did rescue Liz. The last we see of Tom, for the purposes of this story, is when he walks away from Liz and Ressler in “The Decembrist.”

Chapter 3

Red had satisfied her – in every way. Physically, they had come together as they hadn’t since his return to find Liz with his child. It was raw and powerful and so, so needed. It made her feel alive, sexy, and oddly nostalgic, too. He remembered her, who they used to be both alone and together – before everything. They could still be Agent Elizabeth Keen and the Concierge of Crime – combustible, clamoring for the upper hand, aggressive and, underneath it all, adoring. 

He had also satisfied her questions about his upcoming meeting with Harold and the FBI. Tom’s inquiries, his search for her were disturbing the peace they had gained; that was true. But, everyone in the know felt that the spy-for-hire himself truly knew very little. If he knew more, he wouldn’t have had to resort to desecrating the dead; Red found that particular act most abhorrent. 

“He is desperate, Lizzie. For what exactly, I am not sure. It could be money, protection and sanctuary by the Russians, revenge against me, revenge against you. If he believes his assertions – that you are alive – I think he also believes I am in prison. Nothing he has done or said leads us to believe otherwise – that gives us a small advantage,” Red said, as he dressed. Liz watched him from their bed, her arm, bent at the elbow, and hand propping up her head as she lay on her side facing him. 

“What is the plan then – for tonight,” she asked. 

“We are going to go through possible scenarios of what could be coming based on his past actions. They are also honing in on his location. The two dim-witted accomplices he hired are doing him no favors. Truly, I thought his judgment better than that,” he said, shaking his head as he knotted his tie. “At any rate, analyzing the gathered data should prove helpful. Currently, the Russians don’t know what to make of his assertions. He hasn’t convinced them yet – this I know. And, we need to keep it that way. We do not want them to help him expand his search, to put their resources behind him. As long as he is a lone gunman, so to speak, he is containable.”

He leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss on her lips. “Go to sleep. I will check on the baby. And, I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay,” she said softly. She had already washed up and put on her pajamas and was feeling the pull of sleep. He had turned to go, but her gentle, entreating voice stopped him: “Red?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”

***************************************************

She awoke with a start to a hand over her mouth. The room was dark, but there was no mistaking whose hand it was. “Hey, Babe.”  
He had found her. 

He loomed above her like a zephyr – low, heavy, hulking, blocking out any light around her –, and her heart beat so fast in her chest she felt she might pass out. She said nothing, but she watched him and waited, every sense on alert, every fiber alive with fear and adrenaline. She could see his outline, although the details of his face were lost to the darkness. But she could see enough to know his head was shaved, and he looked hard and cold, very unlike the man she had let get away from her and the FBI more than three years ago. Once he had helped them catch Berlin, he had disappeared, and soon after, thanks to Red, so had she. She never knew what became of him, hadn’t even thought about it. 

She had held him hostage for four months on that disgusting, rusting shell of a ship and gotten only a modicum of truth from him – Jacob Phelps, he said his name was, a liar, a thief, a murderer, an imposter. Over that time, she had hurled hatred and cruelty, browbeat and interrogated, mourned Tom Keen, mourned her life, and learned to come to terms with her own gullible, trusting nature. Her recovery from that debacle had been a process. Red had helped; he had tried to make her feel better about herself. Later, she learned why. 

Red told her the truth about Jacob Phelps early on, during their nights together in South Carolina. He explained how he had hired him and ultimately been betrayed by him. He told her that truth, that mistake, haunted him like no other. He told her that ugly truth when he revealed the rest of her history, a history that included Russia, the KGB, murderous parents and a fire. He did not hide his or Jacob’s part in the more recent years of her story. The whole of it was stunning and painful, but she had moved on, come to grips. Her fake marriage and lying partner held no sentimentality for her, but the fact that she hadn’t seen his falsehood still evoked a small amount of shame. And, now, here he was. The reckoning she had felt deep within her earlier that very day was already upon her. 

But, with effort, she got her breathing under control; she slowed her heart rate. Even as his hand clamped tighter on her face, and he moved to sit beside her on the bed, she relaxed, her focus becoming sharper and sharper until it was absolute. She was that well-trained agent fueled by something more potent than justice. For all she had learned about him, he knew nothing of who and what she’d become; it was her best weapon. And, she needed to wield it with precision. 

“I’m going to need you to come with me, Liz. And, you are going to have to hurry. I’ve neutralized the threats outside your door, but I don’t think we need to take any chances. So, you’re going to stand up and walk out of this house with me,” he said, menacingly.

She went to move her hands and found them handcuffed. She hadn’t even felt him do it. Her habit of sleeping on her back – one borne only since she had begun nursing the baby – had compromised her, as had her deep sleep. 

He smiled when her captive hands registered to her. “Yes, Liz, I’m quick with the handcuffs. You should know that by now. And, also I can’t have you making any noise, so, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, almost as if he were talking to himself. And he swiftly replaced his hand with a thick rag he stuffed into her mouth. 

She wasn’t planning to make a sound, but he couldn’t know that. She listened to the quiet, not allowing her eyes to look toward the door. 

He pushed her sheets and blankets off of her and, gripping her by the elbow, he lifted her to her feet. “Now move,” he said, and she felt a gun push into her back. She closed her eyes tightly for just a moment, giving up a silent prayer. And, she began to walk out of her bedroom, past her baby’s room, down the stairs, and out the front door to a waiting black van. He opened the two back doors to the old vehicle. “Get in,” he said, pushing her forward, the gun still trained on her. “Turn and face me, bringing your feet forward.”

She did as he commanded, and he cuffed her ankles together. Then he slammed the doors shut and locked them. Soon, they were driving away – from her home, from her life, from her baby who was now asleep and alone in the dark house. She had left her baby. Oh, God. Oh, God. What had she done? A sob moved through her like a violent, catastrophic tidal wave, and the lurching movement of the van knocked her onto her side on its floor. “Hurry, Red. Please hurry. The baby is safe, but please hurry,” she begged quietly into the darkness. "Come home.”


	4. Masha Rostova

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, your kind comments, and kudos. They are what keep me motivated.

Chapter 4  
The long van ride began under the cover of night. Deeper and darker than outside, the interior space that contained and confined her had been first filled with sobs no one could hear, sobs for leaving her child and feeling there was no choice but to do that. Then came the short, frantic breathing and muffled screams of a panic attack when the reality of the situation hit. She hadn’t had one of those in a long time. Finally came the long, measured breathing of a panic attack conquered. 

Now, hours later, she lay still, her breathing calm, her senses alert, her mind working, tracking their movements. By her measure, which was understandably imprecise, it was mid-morning. She wasn’t sure what time she had been taken from her bed, but it had to have been in the early morning hours – maybe 1 or 2 a.m. She could see light through a very small crack in the van’s floor. Her mouth was still gagged, her wrists and ankles bound, and she had to use the bathroom. Her physical pain and frustrations paled in comparison to her emotional ones. But, she was trying to rise to the occasion – to be the agent she was trained to be, to be strong, to be smart, to play this like she needed to in order to protect those she loved, whatever the cost. 

She couldn’t help but reflect on another long ride through the darkness, one also begun with a man’s hand on her mouth and body invading her bed, another “kidnapping.” But, that, at least in her mind, was where the similarities ended. Red had come to her motel room over three years ago to save her, to protect her; Tom had come to her home to hurt her, to deliver her to the most dangerous of men for his own gain. Even though she hadn’t known the destination or the reason, with Red, she had left willingly – no gag in her mouth, no gun in her back, no baby sleeping in a nursery down the hall. No baby. The baby. Caroline. Was she alone still? Was she crying? Was she frightened? Was she hungry? Red thought she was home. What if he hadn’t returned in a few hours as he’d promised? What if the meeting had gone long? What if he had stepped into a trap and been captured? Stop. She had to stop. This is what led to the panic attack earlier. She had almost passed out from the hyperventilation. She had to trust Red and herself. She took a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly. 

She had left quietly with Tom because of Caroline. She had to believe Tom did not know of Caroline’s existence. If he did, he would have mentioned it, wouldn’t he? He would have taken her, too. Certainly if Masha Rostova had value to the Russians, her daughter did as well – at least in some measure. Why leave her behind unless he was unaware of her? Liz was counting on his ignorance – his ignorance about the baby and about Red. If he thought Red was in prison and a baby was only something she had wanted in the early, happy, oblivious days of their marriage, then she could press on with whatever this was going to be. Otherwise – if harm to either Caroline or Red was planned – the outcome to this would be very different. 

Soon, the van stopped, and the doors were opened. There he was again, this stranger. She finally got a good look at him, and even from her sideways perspective, he looked cruel and determined. His shaved head, pale skin and neck tattoo spoke of dark deeds and darker intentions. He reached in, grabbed her arm and righted her, and when she was finally sitting up again, she looked beyond him to her surroundings. She saw trees and a murky river. She felt the heavy, humid air. It was warm here, warmer than in South Carolina. Based on the travel time and climate, she would guess they were in Louisiana. 

“Let me see your legs,” he said. She scooted herself forward, allowing him to unshackle her ankles. He also pulled the gag from her mouth. She took a deep breath in and let it out through her mouth. She said nothing. So far, she hadn’t spoken a word to him, and she wouldn’t until it was necessary. She wanted to let him do all the talking. She needed to learn what he knew and what he was planning. The best way to do that was to stay silent. He would hate that; her silences had always unnerved him. Now, she knew why. In the silences he worried he had been made. The silences caused him to scramble, to think of new ways to demonstrate his love, to show her his devotion, to guilt her with his kind words. Sick school children, pancakes and a desperate second marriage proposal came to mind. 

He gestured toward what looked like a shrimp boat moored to a sturdy dock. The wood of the dock was warm under her bare feet as she walked slowly toward the boat, his arm and his gun sure guides. 

“Tit for tat, Liz,” he whispered in her ear; he was pressed close behind her as they walked. “You and I are going to spend some time together, get reacquainted, before I hand you over to your eager countrymen. This smelly old boat may bring back some memories of our months together on another condemned vessel. Huh? What do you think? Might be fun.”

His breath tickled her ear, and she shuddered. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to kill him. She had shot him once before, and it had been easy; she could and would do it again given the chance. And, no saving this time. She had saved him last time and now this. She had tortured, interrogated and held him captive, yes, but then she had given him his freedom; she had let him walk away from the FBI. And, now, he was taking her freedom away. Her thoughts betrayed her; she had unconsciously stopped walking, causing the gun to press even harder into her back and Tom to grip her arm more tightly. “My job was never to hurt you, Liz. It still isn’t. But, I will if I have to. Remember that,” he said, pushing her forward. 

Over the course of the next few days, she existed chained to a pipe in the cabin of that shrimp boat. She was allowed to wash up, eat, relieve herself and sleep on an uncomfortable cot in the corner of the small space. The meager accommodations were better than Tom’s had been, but not by much. She was hot and sweaty, physically miserable and emotionally frantic. But, she hid her emotions well. She was interrogated, chastised and demeaned by him relentlessly each day, and while she had stayed quiet as planned for the first three days, by day four she’d finally reached the threshold of her silence. 

*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

The first night on the boat her breasts began to leak. Her baby’s milk slid down her belly, warm and sticky, staining her bra and light blue silk pajamas, the ones she had put on after her quick shower, after making love to Red. She had been taken from her bed nearly 24 hours before. As Tom paced and yelled, the milk left her body in increasing volume, her body aching to nourish. She crossed her arms and bent forward, watching him inch ever closer to her in his growing rage. Sweat broke out along her brow and more dripped down her back. Don’t let him see, don’t let him see, she pleaded.

“… Liz, I am asking how long you have known about your past. Pay attention to the questions. How long have you known you are Masha Rostova? Because I don’t believe you knew when we were married. Am I right? I think you were naïve then – about who you were, who I was. Weren’t you, Liz? I think if not for Reddington, you would have never doubted me. Am I right? He did this to us, Liz. Liz, answer me!”

The second day she refused to eat and kicked the tray he gave her, splattering the food in every direction, angering him further. His frustration with her was growing by the hour. She could feel his desire to strike her or shake her senseless. She did agree to wash up early that morning, however, grateful for his oblivion as to the stains on her pajamas. She smelled like sour milk and her breasts ached, the intense pain making her nauseous. He slept in the cabin with her, on another bed across the room, but he did leave when she bathed. She took the time to look around the place more carefully, devising a plan. He didn’t leave her alone for long. 

“… It was Reddington who hired me, Liz. Not Berlin. Not initially anyway. Did he ever tell you that? Huh? That he was the one who put me in your life? Did Reddington ever fess up to the truth? He was never what you thought he was, Liz. He was a liar! He lied to you and used you. And, he ruined my life and yours. Can’t you see that? Liz! Open your mouth and talk to me.”

The third day, dressed in an old button-down shirt of Tom’s and her own yoga pants that Tom must have kept all this time, she decided to eat. She realized as her strength waned the importance of keeping strong. She had to be smart. She had to keep reminding herself of that. She had to think of her child not just with longing and desperation, but with the conviction of a mother’s love and protection. She needed to be solid in her decision, to trust that Caroline was safe, and every decision she made moving forward would keep her that way. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself; she had to get rid of that part of herself to do this right. Because if she didn’t, she would never see her child again. 

“… How did Reddington make you disappear? How did he convince you to do it? By telling you the truth or lying to you some more? Did he scare you into doing it, threaten you? What is it about you that makes him willing to go to prison? There is a man in prison, on death row, for you, Liz. Why? To protect you from the Russians, to save you? Or is it to save himself from a different sort of death? I have a hard time believing Reddington was captured without his willingness to be. What is the truth? Answer me! God, you are a bitch!”

On the fourth day, Tom’s agitation at her silence was beginning to make him sloppy. She just needed to wait it out. He would give her something soon enough. She just needed to hold on a little longer, let him talk himself into a corner. She also hoped the longer she was on the boat the closer Red was getting to finding her. She had to believe he was looking and hopefully with the force of the FBI behind him. She was in the Witness Protection Program as was Red and Caroline. Her continued existence was only known by a few, and it needed to stay that way. So far, she had not heard or seen Tom make any phone calls to any contacts. He was very focused on her. And, the longer Tom held her on the shrimp boat, the better. Eventually, he planned to hand her over to the Russians, yes, but until then she had a chance to escape or be rescued. She needed to bide her time. 

“… Do you know where I’ve been, Liz? The last time I talked to you I told you I was going away for a long time. I wanted to say good-bye. I already missed you then. Did you even think of me anymore? Was our life so easy to let go? 

“I have been in Germany for the last three years, deep undercover. I hated that assignment. Do you know why I took it? Huh? Because I needed to get away from you. I loved you. But, you didn’t want to know that. The whole time you held me on that boat you never asked me how I really felt about you. I loved you, Liz. 

“So, I went to Germany to forget you, and guess what? I hear on the news that you’d been kidnapped, then found murdered by Reddington. I mourned you, Liz. I was devastated. I drank. I became reckless, and I killed a lot of people, and it felt terrific. I don’t think I was ever more successful professionally than on that assignment. Well, after my success with you, that is. But, then as the assignment wound down, and I read of Reddington’s capture, I got to thinking: The Reddington I knew would never, ever harm Elizabeth Keen. The Reddington I knew would do anything to protect her. He had even hired me to protect her. I believe he surrendered to the FBI to continue protecting her himself after I turned on him. So, what would make that man, that desperate man, kill the thing he loved most? Nothing. Nothing, that’s what.

“So, then I started digging, Liz. I used my connections in Germany, my connections from my time with Berlin, and a picture began to emerge: Masha Rostova, the daughter of the most legendary of KGB agents, long thought to be dead, burned to death in a fire when she was four years old. A beautiful dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, a pawn between two battling parents, each evil – the mother maybe more so than the father. The mother, Katarina Rostova, became entangled with US Intelligence operatives, enter a young, successful, and, if you can believe it, by-the-book Reddington, a good agent with a conscience. He saved the pretty little girl and shielded her from the evil of her past. He gave her a new family. He watched over her, doted on her from afar, made sure she had every advantage. But then that sweet, precocious little girl grew up and ruined everything. 

“I bet he didn’t expect you, Liz. Am I right? I bet he didn’t expect the stubborn, insistent, persistent, fighting, determined woman you are. I bet you even frightened him a little. Admittedly, you are hard to control, Liz. You want your way, everyone else be damned. So, I am betting Reddington had to steal you away when your past came encroaching. Because I know you, and you would never play dead without a fight. So, he convinced you. Somehow he convinced you to play dead for him. And, as disgusted as I am by what I am about to say, I believe the only way he would be able to do that is if you loved him. Do you love him, Liz? Huh? Do you love that evil, lying, murderous old man? You think he is more worthy of you than me? Because, I was your husband, and you let me believe for three years that you were dead. That’s heartless, Liz, even for you, even given what we went through.”

On that fourth day, she sat on the floor with her legs pulled up to her chest, shielding herself from him as best she could. Her head was tilted back against the wall and turned away from him, and despite her best efforts, she felt tears begin their slow slide down her face. Oh, how she hated him. How she hated hearing her life chronicled in his words, in his voice, and through his eyes. How she hated his knowledge of her past and his twisting of her present. How she hated his assumptions. How she hated the truth of so much of what he said. How she hated his audacity, his supposed love of her, his presumption. She’d had enough. Enough of him, the situation, the silence. She’d gotten what she needed from him – he did not know about her daughter, and he believed Red was in prison. She was his target, as always. Only her. And, despite all he knew, he really knew nothing. Nothing that mattered. She took a deep breath and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Time to begin the end of this. 

She turned to him and smiled, sweet and contrite: “I’m so sorry, Jacob. I know I hurt you. And, I never wanted to hurt you.”

His pacing stopped, and he turned toward her. He had been alternating between pacing and leaning down talking directly in her face. Her voice, finally, and her words gave him pause. He narrowed his eyes, asking, “Jacob?”

“That’s who you are. You know who I am now, too. Neither of us has anything left to hide. I’m angry that you took me, but I understand why you did. You want answers. I did, too – when our roles were reversed,” she said quietly. 

He crouched down, so they were eye level with one another. “So, after four days, you decide to talk. Why now, Liz?”

“Call me Masha,” she said. “It’s who I really am. Let’s not pretend here. We are not the same people who were married to one another. We’re not even the same people who were on that boat together on and off for four months. Everything is different now. Very, very different.”


	5. The Concierge of Crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red goes to find Lizzie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this!!! There are likely two chapters after this one. I hope you enjoy this one. Many thanks for the kind comments and kudos!

Chapter 5  
“What you’re asking me to do is unthinkable, Harold. I’m not leaving,” Red reiterated. “It’s been five days, and your people have made no significant inroads. We’ve gotten what we can from Tom’s lackeys. We now know they dug up the body as a distraction. Tom knew it wasn’t Lizzie buried in that grave. He needed to divide us to get to her, and he did it. Now, how he knew we were here, in South Carolina, at this location, I don’t know yet, but I will. Someone turned on me. I own this whole town; the people here are my people. I did that months ago to protect her and the baby. I would never have brought them here otherwise. They would never have stepped foot in this country if I thought it wasn’t completely secure.” He stopped then, biting the inside of his cheek and turning away from Cooper. He stared out the window at the lake, hands on his hips. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and hard. “Whoever is responsible for helping Tom Keen take Elizabeth will be punished. I will find that person. Those I can trust are methodically interviewing the potential moles as we speak.”

“Interviewing is a nice way of putting it,” Cooper sighed. “Look, Red, you know it is no longer safe for you to remain here. It is not safe for your child to be here. You need to leave South Carolina, and let us run this. We will keep your people in place. We will do our jobs and find her. You can take some comfort in the fact that he needs her alive to get what he wants. She is no good to the Russians dead.”

He turned back to Cooper, his mouth set in a grim line: “That is a small comfort, Harold. A very small comfort.”

“We know, at least for now, she is still in the United States. We are monitoring everything. He can’t leave the country with her – not by land, sea or air. Now, Red, take your daughter and go. Your execution is just days away, and soon your picture and Elizabeth’s are going to be blasted all over the news – again. We can’t stop that from moving forward; too many variables have already been put in motion. It would be more dangerous to stop it than to let it proceed as planned. Do not compromise yourself and everything you’ve done over all of these years. Let’s finish this. Exposing yourself to your enemies, to anyone, will cause irreparable damage to you, Elizabeth, and Caroline. We have to contain this. The best thing you can do for her is stay out of sight.”

“She must be found, Harold. There is no other option. There is no other acceptable outcome,” he advanced on Cooper, his bearing threatening, but his eyes belying fear. 

“I understand,” Cooper nodded firmly. “Where will you go?”

“We were scheduled to leave here tomorrow – to get out of the country before the execution became a news headline. This was just a short trip before we headed to Norway; I was taking her to Norway. I have a house for us there. It’s all set up, but she’s never been there with me. She doesn’t know the house or even the town,” he explained, shaking his head, huffing a bitter laugh. “I like to surprise her. She won’t know how to find us. If she returns here – ”

“If she returns here on her own, someone will be here for her. We will get her to you and the baby as soon as possible,” he assured. “I promise you that.” 

Red nodded, pursing his lips. “You keep Dembe and Greg. I will take Mr. Kaplan with me. I want to be informed of everything, every detail, every move.”

“Of course,” Cooper nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t do anything to jeopardize your lives, Red. Don’t try to be a hero in this. Take Caroline, and get out. Elizabeth needs you alive when she returns. Think about them, Red.”

“They’re all I think about, Harold,” he said, turning away. 

********************************************************************************************************************************

Red went upstairs to the nursery where he found Mere, their housekeeper since their first days in Fiji and a longtime employee of Red’s, rocking Caroline in the beautiful antique rocker Liz loved. 

“I’ll do that, Mere,” he said softly, smiling when Caroline, hearing his voice, turned toward him. “Hi, sweetheart. How’s my little lady?” Half asleep, she lifted her arms to him. He picked her up and kissed her cheek before pulling her against his chest. Mere nodded at Red and left the room, closing the door behind her. Caroline placed her head on Red’s shoulder and patted him on his upper back for a moment, before running her small hand across his shirt, again and again. Caroline’s innocent gesture caused him to falter, and he sank into the rocking chair, closing his eyes as he began to gently push the chair back and forth. His sweet, brokenhearted baby who longed for her mother gripping his shirt collar in her small fist and sighed. She was very tactile, something Liz always loved telling him she got from him: “Always so touchy-feely, Red. You are not satisfied unless you are touching some part of me,” she would say, laughing affectionately at him. He would concede absolutely to that statement each and every time she made it. 

He hummed “The Anniversary Waltz” as they rocked, and soon Caroline was fast asleep, but Red didn’t put her down in her crib; he couldn’t. Caroline’s screams were still too alive, echoing through every part of him, stinging and biting and blistering, the volume blaring. The terror he had felt upon walking into the house at near dawn five days before and hearing her was all-consuming. He instantly knew something was very, very wrong. He had run up the stairs, heart racing, chilled to the bone at her panicked wailing. He had found her sitting in her crib, sweaty and wet with tears, beside herself. He had picked her up, tried to soothe her, but she had been inconsolable (and remained that way for hours). Liz had never let her cry; she didn’t have the heart for it. His mouth had gone completely dry; his words to his baby dried up in his throat as he entered his and Liz’s bedroom to find it empty. Caroline’s cries, tangled bedsheets, cold fear and underneath it all, guilt, met him at the door, nearly knocking him down with their force. 

He knew immediately what had happened; there was no doubt that she had been taken and by whom. It was his worst nightmare realized. If Jacob or Tom or whatever he called himself had knocked Liz out before taking her, there was no blood, no signs of a struggle. There was the possibility that she had been conscious and gone without a fight. If that were true, if she had been aware, then Red knew what it must have taken for Liz to leave that house without Caroline, what she must have suffered keeping quiet to protect the baby. Caroline would still have been sleeping when Liz had been taken. Otherwise, Red did not believe his child would have been left behind. She was too valuable to disregard. If Liz had been awake during the kidnapping, then Red knew her goal had not been fighting back and getting away, it had not been leaving clues, but, instead, it had been getting out quietly, without disturbing her sleeping baby, or letting her baby’s existence be known. “Oh, Lizzie,” he whispered into Caroline’s soft hair. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

Red remained there in the rocking chair until Dembe softly knocked on the bedroom door and entered the room nearly thirty minutes later. “Raymond,” he said, quietly, solemnly. “I have some news.” 

*************************************************************************************  
“A week later, and you are still feeding me the same load of bullshit, Liz,” Tom said, his angry face shiny with sweat. The heat wave was only serving to exacerbate their tempers. The air in the boat’s cabin was stifling, the humidity thick. All pretense between them was gone. Trying to not pretend had failed them miserably, or maybe it was their names that did; either way, they were too good at being other people, the people that had been married to one another, who knew how to hurt one another, to try their hands at something new. Masha and Jacob failed to exist on that shrimp boat set on a Louisiana bayou in late spring. It was only Liz and Tom Keen who showed up. The four days of self-imposed silence on Liz’s part had given way to three subsequent days of heated battles, of fights for information, of tirades, of strategizing, of lies and every other ugly thing that could rise up like a phoenix in the aftermath of betrayal. 

“What do you want from me,” she screamed from her place in the corner. She finally stood up and approached him, stopped as always by the shackle on her ankle, linking her to a pipe. Try as she might she hadn’t been able to figure out a way to get loose of it. He stood three feet in front of her. He never touched her – for that, at least, she was grateful. But, she knew he wanted to hurt her. And, she wanted to hurt him. Badly. 

“I want the truth. I want to know where you’ve been these last three years. I want to know who Reddington is to you. Now, Liz. Who is he to you now? I want to hear you say it! I want to know why you thought it was okay to let me think you were dead,” he said.

She laughed, on the verge of hysteria. “What does it matter, Tom? Huh? You are about to hand me off to the Russians, so they can use me, own me for the rest of my life. What do you care?”

“Tell me what I want to know, and then we can talk about what’s going to happen to you,” he said, inching closer to her, his voice lowering.

She lowered her voice accordingly, seething: “You want to hurt me, punish me, teach me a lesson, teach Reddington a lesson before he dies. Okay. I can’t stop you. So, let’s just get this over with. Make whatever calls you need to make. Do the transfer. They get me, you get your money. Then, you can move on. Isn’t that what all of this is about, Tom? Isn’t this just a business deal with a little revenge thrown in for good measure? Do your job, Tom. And, stop harassing me. I have nothing to say to you.”

She backed away from him and returned to the corner. She sat down on the floor, pulling her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and looking away from him to the cot where she would sleep – again, another night away from home. 

“I already made the call, Liz. I’m surprised you missed it, but then again, you always were a sound sleeper, even in the worst of circumstances. We rendezvous tomorrow night. So, this will be your last night with me here. A hell of a lot shorter a confinement than the four months you held me, but I have an agenda, while you were just winging it. So, for the last time, I want to ask you if you are willing to be truthful with me. It is not too late for me to scratch the deal with the Russians. I can still tell them that I was mistaken, that I was led astray. It will look bad for me professionally, but I would take the hit for you. It is not too late for us to leave here – together. I can protect you, Liz. If anyone can, I can,” he said, looking at her with eyes she recognized. There was a little glimmer of an earlier time, a different man, one she thought to be kind and gentle, one she thought loved her. She blinked and turned away. 

“Let’s rendezvous,” she sighed, resting her head on her arms.

“Oh, Liz,” he smiled softly and shook his head. “You are making the wrong choice. I am the lesser of two evils. The Russians – they are chomping at the bit for you – and when they get you, they will eat you alive. Sleep on it, Lizzie. Reconsider. We were good together once. We can be again. You need to forget Reddington and whatever hold he has on you. Your loyalty is wasted on him. He is a dead man, one way or another. Whether he really is in prison or not, which I do question, he won’t get to you. Not in time to save you. Think about it. You have almost 24 hours to decide.”

She didn’t answer him, didn’t look at him. She closed her eyes instead and waited for him to go away. She, indeed, had a lot to think about. None of it good. But, her mind wouldn’t stay on topic. Her thoughts always, almost to the exclusion of all other things, rested on her daughter as night fell and long after. During the day, she could focus on escaping, on outwitting Tom, on strategy, on being that agent that she still was, but, at night? At night, she was a mother. 

In the dark of the cabin, huddled in the corner of her lumpy cot, she thought about her baby, her soft, sweet-smelling, babbling baby, who loved her, truly loved her, like no one ever had – not her own mother or father, not Sam, not Tom, not even Red. The love of a child for her mother and the love of a mother for her child was so powerful, so enthralling and wonderful; she was awed by it every day. It made her wonder at her own beginning, her own mother’s struggle to retrieve her. Had she been loved? She understood that desperation – to get to your baby, no matter who paid, who suffered. To be forced to leave your child or to have that child taken from you – both were unbearable. Both made you make bad choices. 

The two choices from which Liz had to choose were bad - - to go with Tom, to accept his protection allowed for the possibility of escape; it also kept her hidden from the Russians. It protected her family – both Red and Caroline would be safe. What it meant for her, she couldn’t dwell on. To be handed over to the Russians meant no escape, meant no hope of a future with a family of any kind, unless she let Caroline’s existence be known to them, and she wouldn’t. It meant a lifetime of servitude, a bad end. And, the knowledge of her existence invalidated Red’s murder charges. That could mean a real death sentence for him by the hands of the crumbled cabal or a multitude of other factions. 

There was only one real choice – to escape. Whatever this rendezvous scenario, she had to capitalize on it. It was her only chance. She needed to decide how to play this, because there was no room for error. Everything depended on it. 

****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Against the judgment of Dembe and Mr. Kaplan and without the FBI’s knowledge, Raymond Reddington arrived in New Orleans alone on the morning of the eighth day of Liz’s disappearance. He now knew who had betrayed him, and that man had suffered a slow, painful death at his hand. Greg was no more, and the thought of the young man he had trained, invested in and counted on made him shiver despite the heat of the city. A man as jaded as the Concierge of Crime should never be surprised by the whims of seeming loyalists, but this time he had been. He had trusted Greg with Liz’s life, time and time again; she had learned to care for him; and they had allowed him to spend private time with them and Caroline. So, the knowledge Dembe so reluctantly imparted – naming Greg as the mole – had been a punch in the gut.

As he begged for his life, Greg did provide useful information that led Red to New Orleans. Greg told of a meeting that would be held in the city where some key Russian operatives would be in attendance. It was Tom’s hope that an exchange could be made there if he managed to reach a deal with the Russians. The meeting, disguised within an annual fundraiser masquerade ball, was to be held in a museum in the French Quarter. Red checked himself into a hotel near the museum and proceeded to prepare for Liz’s extraction. He unrolled the blueprints of the museum across his desk and began plotting the route through which he would enter and ultimately exit, with Liz in tow. 

It was Dembe who fought against this plan most vehemently days before. “Raymond, Elizabeth would never want you to risk your life like this. Let the FBI handle it. Let me,” he pushed.

“No,” Red said, simply.

“You are being unreasonable and reckless. What about Caroline? What if this goes sideways, Raymond? Are you willing to risk your child growing up with no parents?”

“Kate knows what to do, Dembe. If that happens. She has the directives. But, if I do this personally, Caroline will have both parents for a long time,” he promised. “Are you with me?”

Dembe sighed and shook his head slightly, “Of course I am, brother. What is the plan?”

And so it came to be that Dembe and others were strategically placed along the perimeters of the city, monitoring all exit points. Caroline was safely out of the country in a remote town in Norway with trusted Mere and Mr. Kaplan. The FBI believed Red had traveled to Norway with Caroline, and they, true to their word, had the house in South Carolina monitored for Liz’s potential arrival. And, Red was where he needed to be, because there was no future for him without Liz. He could never live with the knowledge that he had had a chance to save his child’s mother and didn’t take it – to save his own sorry skin. No. Caroline needed her mother, and to know her father did everything in his power to save her mother. That he could live with, even if he died trying. He needed Liz back safe and sound, and then he needed to deal with Tom Keen. That miserable bastard had attempted to wreck his life for the last time. He would pay, as Greg had. 

Later that night, in a tuxedo, a dark-haired wig and an elaborate Mardi Gras-style mask, Red entered the museum building through a service door, climbed the back stairs, and walked through an exhibit storage area and into the main ballroom. The party was in full swing when he arrived: elaborate ball gowns and tuxedos and masks were donned; drinks were flowing; a jazz band was playing; guests were dancing and mingling; and the dull roar of happy voices sounded like the hum of bees in his ears. His sharp eyes scanned the room as he made his way to the bar. He ordered a scotch as he surveyed the seated guests behind him. That part of the ballroom was more dimly lit, each table only illuminated by candlelight. Not many guests remained seated; many more were standing and talking in clusters about the room. He nodded as the bartender handed him the drink, and stuffed a tip in the glass jar on the bar. And, just as he was about to turn back to watch the dance floor, he saw her.


	6. Red and Lizzie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red and Liz save one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind reviews and kudos, wonderful readers! You are all the very best! This story likely has just one more chapter after this one.

She wore a strapless gold ball gown that shimmered in the candlelight as she glided across the room from a faraway table to the dance floor. Red watched her elegant movements, intimately familiar with the sway of her hips, the ease of her gait, the tilt of her head, the curve of her back. Her hair was swept up in a French twist, and Red could see the elaborate ribbon of her mask had been masterfully woven into the curl of her hair. 

When she finally turned toward her dance partner and reached her arms up and placed them around his neck, Red’s breath caught, and his fists clenched. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, her mask exquisitely detailed and her lips painted ruby red. She smiled so sweetly at her partner that for a minute Red forgot what he was doing there and only felt the tight grip of jealousy; it held him in place, his teeth clenched, his glass of scotch dangling from the fingers of one hand, forgotten. 

As she began to move, he tracked her, looking for clues in her facial expressions – what was she feeling, was she plotting something, what was her play, had he misjudged her, was she here willingly – but, he only had her mouth revealed to him, her mask hiding so much else from him. 

Then, a turn, a twirl revealed her partner, Tom Keen, who cut an impressive figure in his black tuxedo. They made striking pair; they turned heads. They danced fluidly, familiarly. They knew each other, too. 

Then, above the din, he heard her – a laugh, so genuine his stomach plummeted. She had her head thrown back, chuckling, a not oft-experienced sight. In all his time with her, Red could count on one hand, the times he had brought her to that uninhibited reaction. He bit into his bottom lip just as Tom leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on the hollow of her exposed throat. 

Someone bumped into Red then, knocking his drink from his hand. 

“Excuse me. My apologies,” the tall man said in a thick Russian accent. “Let me get you another.”

“That would be great. Thank you,” Red said, his voice distorted a bit by his mask, and more by his own doing. 

He watched the man and two others with him walk to the bar. So, they had arrived – the Russians. The men Tom hoped to sell Lizzie to had finally shown up. Because that was what Tom Keen was doing – selling her. There was no prettying it up. No denying it. There was only calling a spade a spade. Red was about to put a stop to Tom Keen selling his ex-wife to a band of renegade ex-KGB agents. And how Lizzie, his lover and the loving mother of his child, could be dancing with Tom Keen in such a carefree manner, he didn’t know. But, he was going to find out. 

He watched the dance floor as he waited for his drink. The three Russians seemed at ease, jovial as they chit-chatted at the bar. “And a – what do you drink, my friend,” the one asked Red.

“Scotch.”

“And, a scotch for my new friend there,” he told the bartender. 

The song ended, and Red watched Liz step closer to Tom and whisper something in his ear. When she finally backed away, she looked up at him, her hands on his forearms, her mouth forming a shy smile. Tom nodded. Red couldn’t tell if he spoke or not, but she seemed satisfied and smiled wider. 

“Here is your drink, friend. Enjoy your night,” the Russian said, handing Red the Scotch, patting him on the back and walking toward the dimly lit group of tables with his cohorts, perhaps in preparation for the meeting, the trade – money, in exchange for the freedom of a woman. 

Red nodded, doing his best to speak very little, to remain in the shadows. He looked up to see Tom and Liz beginning to exit the dance floor. Tom held her arm and whispered in her ear as they walked. Red put his drink down on the bar, ready. Tom headed to the tables and the direction of the Russians alone, while Liz veered in the other direction, toward the restrooms. The room was crowded, and her progress was slow. Her movements seemed natural enough unless you had made a habit of studying them, lovingly, longingly, with patience, over much time, which Red had. She was in a hurry; she was anxious. But, he couldn’t wait to see where she was going. No. He needed to end this. 

Red cut her off mid-stride and stepped in front of her. Gesturing toward the dance floor with his left hand, he gripped her elbow with his right, “Shall we?”

He felt as much as heard her sharp intake of breath; he watched her lips part and her eyes widen. Had she been caught or rescued? He wasn’t sure yet. He steered her toward the dance floor gently by her elbow and positioned them to dance like strangers. 

“What are you doing here,” she questioned, breathless and alarmed.

“I’m here to get you out. Remain calm and listen. And, smile,” he said, quietly, smiling at her as he would any comely woman he had risked asking to dance. 

“I already have a plan, and you are jeopardizing it,” she said, staring straight ahead, her eyes scanning the room. “I don’t have much time. Please leave. Please. Don’t compromise everything. Go. Now.”

“Never,” he said, softly but resolutely. “Not without you.”

She sighed and looked into his eyes. Their masks obscured their identities, but also the full range of their emotions. He could feel her, though, and she was stiff in his arms, tightly wound and ready to spring. Absent was the soft, pliant woman he had come to love; in this moment, she was as much FBI Agent Elizabeth Keen as she ever had been. She was working, and he had to shift his thinking, reorganize his emotions and pay attention to what she was saying. 

“Tom has people surrounding this place, inside and out. He is meeting with the Russians right now. He is telling them he was wrong; that I am not alive. But, I can’t be seen – in the off chance they can pick me out of a crowd – masked. I need to get out of sight. And, you need to get the hell out of here before they make you, and we are all screwed; before we are all killed,” she said, calmly, smiling shyly at him as they swayed to the music.

“Then, what?” He sounded suspicious, his voice a rumble in her ear, reverberating through her chest as he twirled her and came too close to her, too close for two strangers dancing: “What comes next?” 

“Then, once the Russians leave, I leave with Tom through a back staircase. He has two cars waiting. A decoy and ours. Then, I figure out the rest. I can handle him. It won’t take me long now that he is beginning to trust me,” she said, determined. “Now, get out of here. Now. Please.”

“I will get rid of all of Tom’s men, including the drivers. They will be replaced by Dembe and another of my men. People who can be trusted. Get in the car with Dembe. You get in the car driven by Dembe,” Red repeated.

“Tom knows his drivers. He won’t get in the car,” she said, frustrated with him. “Let me do this my way.” 

“You’ve managed to convince Tom not to hand you over. I worry about what you’ve sacrificed to make that happen, but that notwithstanding, you are here. Alive. Let me help keep you that way. We have always been better when working together. Think of me as backup. Let me help you. When Tom sees guns trained on him, he will get into the car. When you come out of the back staircase, when you exit this building, you will be safe. And, then you will be brought to me.” With that, he let go of her, bowed slightly, all grace and manners, and walked away without another glance.

Her breathing labored with the effort to remain, she watched him leave her, quick strides taking him in the direction of the kitchen. Her lips parted, the words begging to be released from the tip of her tongue – “Don’t leave me, Red! Take me with you! Red! Come back, please!” She was alone on the dance floor, and the song was ending. Applause broke out, snapping her back to the situation at hand. She needed to get out of sight. 

She walked to the ladies’ room, where she had been headed before Red stopped her. She would remain there until she heard Tom rap twice on the door. It was a communal bathroom, so her remaining in there wouldn’t cause a stir. She had thought to knock out and then trade dresses with a woman close to her size that might enter the bathroom, just to further obscure herself if the Russians had noticed Tom with a woman in a gold dress, but then that would potentially lead to more notice than she needed. Leaving someone unconscious in the bathroom at a society affair would certainly draw attention, raise red flags. No. She needed to be smart. Be patient. 

She would stick with the plan, and hope Tom would be allowed to live after his announcement to the Russians. She hoped he was convincing, but then he had lied to her for years quite believably. The longer she waited the better her chances; Red’s people would be taking care to quietly get rid of Tom’s, smoothing the path to her escape. He was smoothing her path, again, as ever, as he never allowed her to do in return. He had put himself in grave danger coming to the ball, mask or no. She knew why he did it; she had tried to do the same for him, but the difference was, she was always stopped. He always stopped her from coming for him, from attempting to save him. Why did someone not stop him? Was no one strong enough, convincing enough to stop him from jeopardizing everything? 

Playing Tom had turned her stomach, but it had worked. That morning he had moved them to a fancy hotel close to the museum, so they could dress for the party in comfort. He had others there to make sure she didn’t try anything. She was heavily guarded as she showered and primped. He even had someone do her hair, the gentle fingers at her scalp reminding her of Red, of a day by the lake that changed the course of her life, a day that maybe had led her here. By the evening, when she was clean and sweet-smelling, more than a week of grime washed away, she stared at the dress of Tom’s choosing in the closet. What was she about to do? What was she about to allow to happen? Was she strong enough? Was she self-sacrificing enough? That was always her problem, wasn’t it? 

She wasn’t able to deny herself. She was self-indulgent. She was greedy. She hadn’t been able to let Red walk away from her life, even though he had assured her the safest option was for them to have absolutely no contact, for her to live her life as someone else, wholly separate from him. She hadn’t been able to do that, hadn’t even wanted to try. She had wanted him, no matter the danger. 

She also hadn’t been able to deny herself a chance at a child; even though she had questioned her ability to conceive, she knew in her heart of hearts that making love to Red again and again and again without protection left open the possibility of a baby. And, she had wanted that baby so desperately no matter the consequences, no matter the dangers that lurked at the corners of their temporarily serene existence. She had been able to fool herself into believing they were safe, that her choices had been good ones, grounded in reason and some wisdom. But, they hadn’t been; her choices had come from a different place, grounded in things much less reliable – love and desire, all-consuming and, ultimately, selfish. 

Her heart hammered in her chest, and sweat pricked at her neck and the base of her spine. Despite Tom’s continued persuading that she reconsider her choice of going with the Russians, she hadn’t. She had been steadfast in her refusal. But, now, as she reached out and touched the dress, its silk fine under her fingers, she knew Tom had been right – he was the lesser of two evils. And, the opportunity for immediate escape seemed slim. She needed the chance to get her family back. She was too selfish to just walk away, to let the Russians have her. She was prepared to make another bad choice, one based again on love and not reason; she would tell Tom she had changed her mind, that she wanted him, that she wanted a second chance for them. She would wait until they went to the ball, so she could check out her options of escape there. If no clear method presented itself, she would tell him. He would believe her; she knew him well enough to convince him. She knew how to play him like a fiddle when she wanted to. And, once they were safely away from the danger of the Russians, she would lull him into complacency with her attention and assurances. Then, she would be able to do what needed to be done – whatever that might be – to get away, to return to Red and Caroline, however long it took. She needed that chance. 

Now, she waited in the bathroom for the knock signaling Tom’s success and their escape. She licked her lips, her nerves rattled, her desire for a weapon – for a gun – strong. After fifteen agonizing minutes, the knock came, one, two, and she opened the door slowly. Beneath the mask, she saw his relief and left on his arm. 

“They’ve gone. They think I am inept and a waste of time, but they believed me. You are safe for now, babe. Let’s go,” he said, kissing the side of her face behind the mask, near her ear. She breathed an honest sigh of relief; the worst of this – for her – may now be over. 

“Okay,” she said, smiling gently at him, this monster, who in his warped mind still believed he could have her love. “Thank you, Tom.” This man, who had created the danger he just saved her from, received her thanks. But, in minutes the masquerade would end, and she would feel no remorse from handing him over to whatever fate awaited him. 

As they walked down the back stairs, and Tom talked about their future – full of sailboats and sun and sangria – her mind was on her own, and it had nothing to do with him.  


When Tom finally opened the door leading to the back parking lot, a gun met his temple, and he was quickly searched and removed of his weapons, while a gentle hand took Liz’s arm. Without a word, Dembe escorted her to a waiting vehicle. Before slipping into her seat, she searched his warm eyes. She saw his anxiety and resolve; this job had been too personal, too much was at risk. She knew he had likely fought against Red coming here and lost, and it rankled him. “Thank you,” she whispered. He nodded. She got in, and he closed the door softly after her. 

She had expected Tom to be placed next to her in the backseat, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t even placed in the same car. That would have been an unnecessary risk to her, she realized. Dembe knew what he was doing. But, she had one thing to say to Tom, one last thing to say: “Dembe, wait. I need to tell him something.” He opened the door for her, and she got out quickly, realizing the need to get this done, so they could move on before they were noticed. She walked to the other car holding Tom, Dembe beside her. She rapped on the window, and it was brought down revealing Tom’s angry face. 

“I need you to know you don’t deserve me, Tom – Jacob. You never did. You deserve what is coming to you now. I am not dead, but you are – if not for good, then certainly to me. We’re even now – lie for lie, kidnapping for kidnapping, hurt for hurt – but, I win. I have a life, a real one. I know so much better than you, so much more than you. Good-bye, Tom Keen,” she said, then turned and walked confidently away. She couldn’t tell him about Red and Caroline and all that she had, but she wanted to. She wanted to shove her fulfillment in his face, but she couldn’t risk it. She believed he would be killed very soon, and she needed to walk away, to walk toward something. She needed to go home. 

The ride took longer than she expected. Dembe remained silent, minus his simple answer to her first and ultimately only question: “Dembe, where are we going?” 

“To Raymond, Elizabeth.”

She had so many more questions, one above all others, but she needed to ask them of Red, only of him. She leaned back in her seat. She was safe; she had saved herself and been rescued, both. But, she wasn’t relieved yet, not even a little bit. She felt her heart was going to leap out of her chest; her fingers were digging into the seat; and her left foot was tapping incessantly on the floor board. 

As soon as they pulled up to an old plantation house on the banks of the Mississippi River, she opened the car door and ran into the dark house, toward, toward. 

“Red! Red!”

She heard nothing. She climbed the stairs, her gold ball gown a blur as she moved. “Red!”

Then she heard his voice and followed it. She ran into a bedroom at the end of the hall to find him facing a floor-to-ceiling window, closing his phone. He turned just in time for her to collide with him and pull him to her with force; she clutched at his tuxedo vest and shirtsleeves, her tears, long held in check, now streaming down her face: “The baby? Red, where’s the baby? Where is my baby? Please! Is she - is she alright? I left her, Red! I left her alone! I didn’t, I didn’t want Tom to know. I needed to keep her safe. But, I left her! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I left her! I left her …” She was frantic, nearly hysterical, her eyes wild. 

Red immediately took hold of her face in both of his hands. “She is safe, Lizzie,” he said, trying to smooth out his voice for her. “She is safe. No harm came to her. I got to her. She is with Mr. Kaplan and Mere. That was Mr. Kaplan on the phone just now. Caroline is fine. She is perfect. She is right now fast asleep in Mere’s arms. And, they are safely far away from this.”

She couldn’t hold herself up, not anymore. She had done her best for the last week; she had done her best to hide her true emotions from Tom, to not reveal to him her leaking breasts, her consuming worry for her daughter, her fear for Red’s safety. She had done her best to hide the existence of another life. And now, she finally collapsed from the effort and wept. As she began to slip down, taking Red with her, he scooped her up in his arms. “Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie,” he whispered in her ear as he carried her to the big bed in the center of the room. “My sweet Lizzie. My beautiful, brave, smart, wonderful girl, I am so relieved to have you back. You are okay. Caroline is okay. We are all okay.” 

She was too overwhelmed to fully comprehend the quaver of his voice, the shaking of his arms, the too-fast beating of his heart, the tightness of his hold and the tears in his eyes. 

She was too overwhelmed to witness what led him to risk everything for her time and time again and refuse to let her do the same – his own selfishness. Because it wasn’t only Lizzie who had lost the art of self-denial, who indulged, who acted on her heart’s request; it was him, too. They were, both, lost to the other. What they termed selfish, now seemed to be the very definition of something else – a deep and abiding love. Selfishness revealed as selflessness.


	7. A Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and responding to this story!! This is the last chapter. I would be thrilled to hear from you about it. I hope it has been an enjoyable ride. I will miss my little "Trust Me" world. Hopefully, a new idea will reveal itself soon. If it does, I will certainly be back!

He watched her sleep with an intensity he hadn’t since those first nights and mornings in South Carolina. Then, he had believed his time with her was fleeting, that he needed to memorize all of her, particularly her face – its contours, texture, minutest movements, and most subtle expressions – because it would be all he was left with in the end. This early morning, still cloaked in a heavy pre-dawn blanket, he watched her to assure himself she would remain beside him, that she had returned – to stay. He needed to soak in her warmth, her scent and to listen to her breathing, to track the rise and fall of her chest, to take comfort in her solidity. 

But, while he had managed to hold sleep at bay, she had succumbed to it quickly. Now, at least three hours into her repose, her hands continued to clutch fistfuls of his shirt, her strong grip barely slacked with sleep. She must have needed assurance of his presence as well. He had noted that her mask had hid a multitude of information from him. Her well-coiffed hair and ruby red lips told one story, but her eyes, the bottomless pain within them and the deep shadows beneath, told an altogether different one. She was very pale, and her cheekbones stood out more prominently than they had only a week ago. Even in sleep her face looked pinched, pained, something that through everything he had never seen in her. He wanted to wipe it all away; it was all he had ever wanted. But, as he lay beside her on top of the rumbled sheets of a foreign bed, dressed in wrinkled formal wear with deception and failed promises crammed tight in the space between their bodies, he knew he couldn’t. 

He hadn’t been able to shield her from exposure. They had thwarted the worst of it, of course – Jacob Phelps/Tom Keen would be handled, and the Russians remained ignorant to her existence. But, now the threat to her, the very real threat to their family had shown itself. And, he knew her. She wouldn’t be able to ignore that reality easily. She would look for a solution. Her analytical mind would very soon start devising a plan to prevent what just happened from ever happening again. What he had told her so long ago – that the two of them should have no contact, that a life together was the worst possible choice, that she should move on and create a life far from him – would reassert itself, making her question, making her doubt. 

He would prepare himself for it. He was, he was preparing himself for it. For her decision. Because he knew deep, deep down that things could not go on as they had been. The house in South Carolina would have to be destroyed. They could not risk being in the U.S. after this – not for a long time. If any of the Russians or anyone else Tom might have talked to came looking, there could be no sign that Masha Rostova aka Elizabeth Keen breathed air. But, before all of that, she needed the baby; first and foremost, he had to get her to the baby. And, the rest? The rest would be up to her. 

*********************************************************************************************

She was quiet on the plane ride to Norway. But, her body was in near constant motion; she paced up and down the aisle, back and forth, back and forth, alternately worrying her bottom lip with her fingers and biting it so hard that Red was sure he would soon see blood dripping down her chin. When she sat, she tapped her feet against the floor or her hand against the tray table. She occasionally placed her hands over her face, hiding herself from him for a time, before rising again.

Before they left New Orleans, he had talked to her about Greg, about how all of this happened. And, she had told him about being chained by the ankle on the boat, about the stifling air, about her baby’s milk that had soaked her again and again before drying up for good. She had told him about Tom’s raging and the constant questions and demeaning comments. She had told him of her belief that she would indeed be handed over to the Russians until Tom proposed a different scenario – one that had made Red turn away from her upon hearing. He had not wanted her to see his expression, not when she was explaining to him that that was the scenario she had ultimately chosen. He had known that – at the ball she had told him as much – but to hear it in the course of the bigger story was somehow far worse. He knew she had been tortured even if she didn’t fully grasp that yet, and just because Tom hadn’t beaten her didn’t mean the wounds were less visible. He could see them in her every movement. 

And, though she had clung to Red in the dark of night, she did not touch him in the light of day. She did not hug or kiss him; she did not place her hands lingeringly on him; she did not seek his affection. She was more distant than she had been in years, maybe since the day he had forced her to make a choice – who to become. She had purposely chosen wrong then, and he had called her on it. The ensuing argument had led to Red opening up to Liz in a way he hadn’t previously, and to Liz agreeing to become Alicia Ramsey. He had told her he knew her, and convinced her that he did with the things he revealed – her likes, her dislikes, her favorite things, her passions, her vulnerabilities. It had forced him to reveal his biggest vulnerability – her. He knew her still – better than ever, so very, very well. And, he knew why she was distancing herself from him. She was scared, she was angry, she was desperate, and she was preparing herself for what she felt was an inevitable eventuality. 

When they were two hours from landing, Red returned from talking with the pilot in the cockpit to find Lizzie seated and staring out a window, her tight fists pounding on the tray table again and again and again to some set rhythm only she could hear. The closer he got, he could see she was grinding her teeth. He approached her cautiously and gently seated himself beside her. She did not acknowledge his presence. She didn’t seem to be aware of him at all. 

“Lizzie,” he said very softly. 

Her fists hit the table.

“Lizzie?”

The table clattered with the force of her hands.

“Lizzie, sweetheart,” he whispered, finally placing his hands on top of hers, pushing them down when she tried to raise them. He gripped her hands then, squeezing them gently. “We are almost there. Caroline will be there waiting for us when we get to the house.”

“Is he dead?”

“What?”

“Tom. Is he dead yet?”

“Lizzie. I had him handed over to Harold. Whatever information he has, whoever he talked to – we need that first.”

“You interrogated and killed Greg. You didn’t need Cooper for that,” she said, still staring out of the window. Her voice cold.

“Greg was for me to handle. That was a personal betrayal.”

She laughed bitterly and turned to him. Looking him in the eye for the first time in many hours. “Was Tom’s betrayal of me not personal? Was that not personal enough for you?”

“My priority was getting you out and to safety. My second objective was capturing Tom and getting him to the FBI. Then, I wanted to be there for you. Not him. You are my priority; you are personal to me.”

“You should have killed him,” she said, turning her face back toward the window, the hardness in her voice chilling him. “I would have preferred it.”

“He will get what is coming to him, Lizzie,” he promised, softly, staring at the back of her head. He let go of her hands. He moved one of his hands to skim over her hair from the crown of her head to the soft brown tip, so, so gently. “What is important is that you are well, that you are home.”

She gave him no response. 

 

**************************************************************************************************************************

Lizzie held her breath upon entering the house. It was quiet inside, and she stood in the foyer for a moment getting her bearings. As desperate as she was to see her daughter, she was a little afraid, too – afraid of her emotions, her inability to keep it together. Then she heard a delighted squeal, and her heart picked up speed, her breathing quickened. Caroline. Her sweet sounds. And, the unbearable thought of never hearing them again. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and moved toward that happy noise. 

She soon rounded a corner and entered the living room. There seated on the floor surrounded by toys was her baby, happily holding a stuffed pink elephant in her two chubby hands. She was babbling to the elephant as Mere looked on from a nearby rocking chair. Lizzie quietly took in the scene. It looked safe and serene; it looked uncomplicated and happy. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes, and she took a deep shaky breath. The noise caused both Mere and Caroline to look up. Mere smiled, full of relief and joy, while Caroline’s smile vanished; the child momentarily stilled. Her big blue eyes tracked Liz as she moved closer. When Liz finally sat down on the rug directly in front of Caroline, the baby had already abandoned the elephant, her face intent on her mother, her small hands open. 

“Hi, baby girl. Hi, my sweet baby,” Lizzie said, tears blurring her vision and muddling her words. At the sound of Lizzie’s voice, Caroline started to cry, heartbroken and bereft. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Lizzie said, lifting the baby, pulling her into her chest and cradling her tightly. “I love you, Caroline. I love you. I’ve missed you.” Caroline grabbed a fistful of Lizzie’s hair, holding on tightly, and nuzzled her face into Liz’s neck. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, sweet girl.” 

Lizzie kissed her and talked to her and soothed her, until finally Caroline’s crying eased, along with her mother’s. For the rest of the day and into the night, the two remained inseparable. It pained Lizzie that night to give her baby a bottle, the ability to nurse Caroline for just a few more months stolen, but she tried to focus on those content blue eyes that watched her every move. Liz rocked her gently and hummed to her, and those brilliant eyes began to close. She continued to rock her long after she had fallen into a deep sleep, unwilling to let her go. Finally, Liz stood and placed Caroline carefully in her crib. She watched the steady rise and fall of her daughter’s small chest. She found it so calming that instead of leaving the room, she sat down on the rug beside the crib and rested her forehead against its railings. She would watch for a while longer. 

 

***************************************************

Red had remained in the periphery that day, allowing mother and daughter time to readjust to one another. His words with Lizzie had been few, but he had talked with Harold at length. Jacob Phelps was still being interrogated; he was proving to be difficult. There were many significant charges against him – one being the kidnapping and imprisonment of a federal agent. That charge could not be brought to light, because that agent was supposed to be dead, so other charges would have to stick. Jacob Phelps had murdered many people over the years, committed many crimes, but the gathering of evidence for those things would take time. For now, Harold had assured Red that Jacob Phelps was being held in solitary confinement in the country’s most secure military detainment facility. He would have access to no one, would be able to spread his knowledge of Liz’s existence to no one. By the end of the conversation, Red admitted to himself that Lizzie had been right – he should have just killed the man called Tom Keen. 

She didn’t come to bed that night or the next, and he didn’t ask her to. He knew where she was; he had found her the first night in the nursery, curled up asleep on the floor beside Caroline’s crib. He covered her with a blanket and let her be. He needed to give her time and space – enough but not too much. It was a delicate business. One he understood. 

By the third night, she finally came to him in bed. In silence she stripped away his t-shirt and his pajama pants. She kissed him slowly and carefully. She was tentative, exploring him gently with her hands, and he wanted to do nothing to spook her, so he followed her lead. She took off her shirt and her sleep shorts and closed the gap between them, so they lay side by side, skin to skin under the covers on the big bed. With only their underwear between them, Lizzie hugged him to her, tightly. She took a deep breath, held it for as long as she could, and then sighed. “I love you, Red. You know that, don’t you,” she asked, her breath tickling his ear and causing him to shiver.

“I do know that, Lizzie. And I love you,” he answered, his voice a deep rumble vibrating through her.

“No matter what, Red. I love you. So very much,” she whispered in his ear, her hands running up and down his scarred back. Her words and ministrations were meant to be soothing, but there was a finality to them that stilled him. 

“Lizzie, sweet---”

“Red,” she pleaded, cutting off his words but not his worries. “Make love to me. Please. Just, just make love to me.” And, so he did, slowly, gently, thoroughly long into the night. 

 

**************************************************************************************************

When he woke it was still dark out, but Liz was gone from the bed, had been for a while by the cool feel of the sheets. He sat up slowly and listened. All was quiet – no crying baby, no movements he could detect. The clock read 3:30 a.m. He rose and found his pajama pants and robe. Putting both on quickly, he left the bedroom in search of her, dread like lead in his belly. No, Lizzie, no. Don’t you dare have done it. First, he went to the nursery. He found Caroline asleep and alone. He quietly moved from room to room, each empty space leaving him more and more panicked. He searched the back garden. Nothing. Then he returned to the house for a flashlight, his phone and shoes. Mere was there – also asleep – but, he could leave Caroline. It was okay for him to leave. 

He needed to begin a proper search – his own – before he got others involved. He had already thrown off his robe, leaving it behind him on the floor as he moved quickly to the bedroom. He pulled a sweater from his top drawer and quickly pulled it over his head. He slipped his feet into the first available pair of shoes. He went to the kitchen and grabbed his car keys, too. He was sweating despite the chilly night air. His heart was pounding. He was having trouble swallowing. He pulled open the front door and started down the steps, headed for the car, and there she was, sitting on the bottom step. She had on her jacket and her shoes, and a go-bag sat beside her. 

She didn’t turn toward him, though his presence was unmistakable. She continued to stare straight ahead, across the grass to the dark road beyond. He moved down the three remaining steps and sat down beside her. He studied her profile for a few moments before turning to stare into the distance, too.

After several minutes passed in silence, she finally spoke, her voice scratchy and tired: “I am trying to leave you. I have been trying to leave you for hours, actually.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” she said, sniffing. “I am a threat to you and to Caroline. In two days, the world will believe the Concierge of Crime has been executed. You will truly be free. The existence of our child still remains unknown to the world – something Greg didn’t share with Tom, thankfully. One small blessing in all of this. But, you know there are those who will never stop searching for me, that Tom was just the first. And, if I am found, we are all compromised. If I go, you and Caroline can be free. No one will think to search for you. You have done a good job, Red. Your imprisonment, your execution, it has all been very well orchestrated. 

“But, I have the ability to compromise you. You told me from the start how this works. If you gave me a new identity, a new life, then you could not be a part of it, but I pushed you. I forced you to change your successful business model. Shame on me. Shame on me, Red. And, I brought a beautiful, innocent child into this. Why? Because, I didn’t listen to you. I acted selfishly.

“And, now I want so desperately to do the right thing, the selfless thing – for once. I want to leave you both, so you can be safe – forever. So, you can be free. If I am found by the Russians one day, then it won’t matter. It won’t hurt either of you. That’s what I want. But, I can’t do it. I can’t even make it off the front steps.”

She sniffed again, and he finally turned to look at her more closely. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her nose was runny, and her lips were swollen and chewed upon. 

“Because leaving is the wrong choice,” he said with conviction. “That’s why it’s hard. People often say it’s hard to do the right thing. It isn’t. The right thing is easy, effortless. In my experience, the wrong choices, when you know they are the wrong choices, are much more difficult to act upon. The body resists, Lizzie. The mind might push, but the body always resists. It inherently knows what is right and what is wrong. You can’t move from this step, because going any further would be wrong – no matter the consequences,” he stopped for a moment to consider, then continued, “When we decided to move forward together, was that easy? Was it an easy decision for you to make?”

She turned to look at him then, her eyes full with unshed tears. “Yes,” she said, with certainty. 

“Because it was right. You were right to push me. You were never just business. I have no doubt I would have broken my own no-contact rule eventually if you didn’t do the strong thing, the brave thing, and make us face the truth of what we wanted,” he admitted. “Don’t doubt us now, Lizzie. Don’t doubt this.”

“But, Caroline, Red,” she said, the tears finally slipping. 

“Caroline needs and loves her mother. Above all others. You told me one night how you longed for yours. Do you remember that? How your whole life you watched and wondered – what would it be like? To be nurtured by a mother. For all Sam was for you, he wasn’t that. And, I won’t be either – for Caroline. I won’t be able to replace you or the void she feels as a result of your absence,” he said, matter-of-factly. 

“I remember you told me about your mother. How you loved her spaghetti. How she was kind and patient. How you missed her,” Lizzie said, wiping at her tears. 

“I miss her still – everyday. And, despite all the terrible, unforgivable things I’ve done, every good thing I’ve done, every good part of me, can be attributed to her. Because of her, I could have this second chance – this very good thing – you and Caroline,” he said, lowering his head, inching closer to her, trying to peer into her eyes that she had cast down. 

“The risks, Red, are great,” she said, taking a deep breath.

“Yes,” he said, taking her hand, intertwining their fingers. “But, without great risk, there is no great reward. Together, we are powerful, smart, resourceful, very, very wealthy, incredibly good looking …”

She chuckled at that, despite herself. 

“The point is, Lizzie, we have had one setback in three years. Don’t let it ruin a great thing. Don’t let your fear take over,” he said.

“It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill setback. Nothing about us is run of the mill,” she said, smiling very slightly. 

“And, I personally think we are the better for it. Who wants to be considered run of the mill, Lizzie? Really,” he countered, animation filling his voice and gestures. 

“True,” she admitted. “Certainly not us. We’ll never be boring.”

“Never,” he nodded, in agreement. 

“I want to teach again one day. Go back to Australia. Live there. Let Caroline go to school there. I liked Alicia’s life. It felt safe. And, if you’re there, it will feel real. Like a real life,” she said, looking at him earnestly. 

He smiled at her then and nodded slightly. “Then that is what we’ll do. We can stay here a few months. Let things calm down. Then we can go home to Australia. You’ll be Alicia, Caroline will be Caroline, and who will I be, Lizzie?” 

She leaned a little closer to him and kissed his slightly pouty lips. Drawing back only a fraction, she tilted her head and searched his eyes. “You’ll be a man Alicia used to work closely with, a man she came to trust over time, a man she eventually fell in love with, a man she tried time and time again to let go but couldn’t. You’ll be her longtime lover, the father of her most beloved child, her partner, her best friend. But, your name? Hmmm. Well, names don’t matter all that much, I’ve learned. So, you pick. What do you want me to call you?”

He laughed, deep and hearty, at her sly little smile: “Oh, sweetheart, that was the wrong question.”


End file.
